Find Your Song
by Mighty Dreamfinder
Summary: When Rosa accidentally breaks Miguel's beloved guitar, it takes a surprising encounter in the cemetery with her infamous great-great grandfather Hector Rivera to help her mend her problems. (Oneshot)


**Find Your Song**

"I think I'm cursed, _abuelita_."

Rosa lightly pulled at the pink-rimmed glasses that adorned her face and frowned at the bitterness in her own voice as she leaned against the kitchen wall. On the floor at her feet sat her violin case and she could almost hear the instrument within mocking her.

Elena laughed faintly from her post, bending over a massive pot on the stove. Without looking up the grandmother remarked with a smile, "Nonsense. None of my grandchildren are cursed. I would never allow it."

Rosa's frown turned flat and she tried again. "I'm just not any _good_ on the violin anymore."

"You play beautifully, _mija_." Still stirring the pot of beans, the older woman shifted to the side and grabbed a jar off the counter. All the while she never looked up, but the smile painted on her features betrayed she wasn't catching onto her granddaughter's negative voice and plainly gave away her excitement for the day ahead of them. _Dia de Los Muertos_ was always anticipated and enjoyed, and the food was always plentiful with Elena managing the kitchen.

Rosa felt it was her duty to correct her grandmother. "No. Miguel plays beautifully."

" _Ay_ , so do you. I look forward to hearing your music tonight. Hand me the oregano."

Rosa knew there would be no getting through to her grandmother on the subject of her violin skills while she was cooking. And even then, Elena was no longer against music, but the woman didn't exactly understand the feelings her grandchildren put into their music. She simply enjoyed it, which was by far a wonderful miracle considering how things had been two years ago.

The girl snatched up her violin case and sighed before she headed outside. She spied her mother and aunt preparing a long wooden table for the evening dinner when everyone would be together. Literally, at least if you took the Day of the Dead seriously.

The memory of last _Dia de Los Muertos_ came to mind, when they enjoyed music for the very first time on that special day. Rosa had only been roughly six months into learning the violin and she expected to have gotten better after adding a full year to that. All she could think of was the grimace her teacher had made at their most recent lesson when Rosa's bow coaxed out more than one squeak rather than a graceful note.

Miguel didn't even have a teacher and it was common knowledge his guitar would lead the celebration tonight. Somehow, the thought of playing alongside him seemed less exciting than last year. Last year Rosa had been giddy and new to the strings. This year she was used to them, and they her. Neither one of them seemed about to inspire the other.

Perhaps she could talk to Miguel … No. That would never happen. Her cousin was practically the greatest living musician within the whole town. The guitar and him had no quarrels. The music flowed from him with ease and everyone saw it, respected it, and loved their Miguel with a pride that was unshakable. Ever since he brought the joy of music back into the Rivera family and lifted the ban they'd lived by for close to a century, Miguel's musical talent had grown stronger. So why couldn't Rosa excel, too?

She wished she knew. But she wouldn't be caught dead trying to ask her cousin for advice on the matter. He would probably make some cheeky comment about being more talented than she was, even if it was the obvious truth. Call it rivalry, but Rosa missed the days she could side with the parents in chiding him over his silly ideas about music and guitars.

After depositing the violin case in her room, the fourteen year old wandered idly to her cousin's bedroom.

Miguel was nowhere. Probably already at the _ofrenda_. Rosa knew Coco's passing must have inspired further respect for the Day of the Dead in Miguel and it shamed her that she didn't feel quite as serious about the tradition other than enjoying the holiday.

Sitting dutifully against the wall at her cousin's bedside was the legendary white guitar, formerly belonging to Ernesto de la Cruz until Coco, aided by Miguel, had revealed letters and a photo that proved the Mexican celebrity had been a fraud and a thief.

The guitar had actually belonged to their great-great grandpa, Héctor Rivera. Usually it stayed on display in a little window they had added to the shoe store so that the truth could be shared with pride to all the world. On special days like this, the guitar was Miguel's to coax lovely music out of until no one could keep their eyes open any longer.

Rosa stared at the pearl white instrument and took a step forward.

"Maybe the violin isn't meant for me," she murmured optimistically to no one in particular, carefully grasping the guitar by the neck and lifting it from the floor.

The teenager pursed her lips and shifted the large instrument into her arms, copying the way she'd seen Miguel hold it. While his position always looked natural, Rosa felt like she was holding a cumbersome child sideways.

"How does he _do_ it?"

A shadow fell into the room, reminding her she'd left the bedroom door open, and when Dante let out a cheerful bark her breath hitched. Dante was always with Miguel.

Rosa whirled around, expecting to see her cousin. "I didn't mean to-"

Her feet tripped over each other and she staggered sideways and against the dog, yelping right along with a surprised Dante. Rosa threw out an arm to keep from letting herself slam against the wall on the way down, but the motion left the guitar unguarded.

Wood splintered and strings twanged.

Rosa froze, sitting sprawled on the floor. The beautiful guitar sat in her lap, the neck cracked and snapped where it connected with the rest of the white body and almost all the strings had been yanked apart.

"Oh no. No, no, no … no."

She tentatively pressed the neck to the body, hoping it might put itself together somehow, but of course nothing happened.

Miguel's prized and adored guitar.

A family heirloom protected for nearly a hundred years and she had _broken it_.

Rosa slumped against the wall, her head beginning to swim.

Dante cautiously stepped up beside her, sniffing the guitar with a concerned gleam in his normally bright eyes. He meet her gaze and whined.

"I think I really am cursed," Rosa blurted, ending her statement with a hysterical giggle. She adjusted her glasses with shaking fingers."My parents are going to kill me …"

And Miguel would hate her.

The realization hit her like a splash of cold water and she shot to her feet. "Oh Dante, I've gotta do something!"

She never really talked to the dog like her cousin did, but it somehow felt comforting to start now, in the middle of a crisis. Dante whined again, still looking mournful.

"Don't you tell him," Rosa snapped, heading for the door. "Don't you tell anyone. I'm going to fix this if it _kills_ me."

* * *

The one place the Rivera family was most likely not going to go near for the remainder of the day was the cemetery. The family generally stayed within the compound to celebrate, and the _ofrenda_ was impressive enough to rival the grandest memorial in the graveyard, not to mention more comforting in Rosa's mind. Sneaking away with Miguel's guitar wrapped up in her bed sheets had been a bit of a challenge, but she'd managed it and felt victorious, but it quickly vanished. No one stopped to ask a young girl carrying a bulky bundle in her arms why she ran like the devil himself was on her heels, another stroke of luck that somehow made her feel guiltier still. But she had no choice.

Rosa chose a grave site that was so terribly aged and old and further back that it was unlikely anyone would be visiting it for the holiday. And even if someone did they could only assume the sheet-wrapped bundle was an offering. She set it against the back of the crumbling stone. The guitar would be safe for now.

The teen was hurrying through the marketplace, her brain rushing to come up with an excuse when her mother and grandmother would want to know why she had disappeared when they needed her to help get things ready, when she nearly face-planted against someone's back.

"Excuse me-"

The someone turned out to be Daniel, a tall boy from school with warm eyes, dark brows and a pleasant expression. Recognition lit up his face.

" _Hola_ , Rosa! Where you off to in such a hurry?"

"I-I …"

Rosa found herself going stock still, returning his friendly smile with a flushed face and a nervous grin. Her normally sensible and confident nature she prided herself by always seemed to melt at the sight of the boy. She cleared her throat and did her best to use her favorite, grown-up sounding voice.

"Back to my family. I had to, um, take care of something. It's a secret."

Somehow, Daniel smiled more. "Sounds like fun. How're those violin lessons going?"

Rosa grimaced and shakily reached up to push her frames further up her nose. Her initial elation on meeting the boy deflated. "Not so good," she confessed. "I'm just not doing well anymore. I'm nothing like Miguel. I know people think I should be, since he's my cousin and apparently our great-great grandpa was a wonderful musician, but I can't top him."

She could have kicked herself. She hadn't meant to unload all that inner stuff onto Daniel. It wasn't his business, and he probably thought it was boring information.

The boy tipped his head to the side and Rosa felt her heart flutter a little.

"Who says you have to top him?" Daniel asked. "After all, you're not Miguel, so you're not going to be like Miguel. You're going to be like Rosa."

He punctuated his simple statement with what must have been the most disarming smile she had ever witnessed in her whole fourteen years of life on earth. Rosa sensed Daniel was being genuine, but still, he didn't get it either, did he?

"Thanks," she answered, smiling and pushing a silly giggle down her throat. They said goodbye and moved on their separate ways. Rosa's cheeks lost their warmth when the Rivera household came into view, reminding her of what she now faced for the night ahead.

* * *

 _Dia de Los Muertos_ had started as the sun began to set, and already Rosa knew it would be a long and weary night.

"How can it be gone?" Miguel lamented from his seat at the outdoor table. His youthful voice had a deeper edge creeping in, one that Rosa still wasn't used to catching whenever he spoke, but it added more urgency to his words than she would have liked. He didn't sound like a whining little boy who had lost something, but a young man who carried an aching burden. And other than initial panicking at the beginning, not once had Miguel lashed out at anyone since discovering the precious guitar was missing. That only made things worse from her perspective. Rosa had assumed he would be inconsolable, maybe even refuse to participate with the rest of the family. When did Miguel begin acting so level-headed?

Elena strode up to his side and began stacking his plate full of steaming tamales. "Poor _mijo_ , we'll find out what happened to it. You must eat or you won't have any strength on an empty stomach."

Rosa glanced down at her own plate. Only a few bites had made it into her mouth. The fork in her hand was beginning to look like a tiny guitar.

"It's disgraceful this happened today of all days," Rosa's _tio_ Enrique stated with a frown. His certain gaze landed on Miguel. "I know my boy wouldn't abuse that instrument if his life depended on it."

Everyone voiced their agreement while Rosa took a sip of water.

The man continued somberly, a weary note in his voice, "I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out that somebody stole the guitar, knowing it's importance and value."

Elena 'hmph!'ed with a stern frown, stalking over to her proper place at the table, having finished her rounds of re-stocking everyone's tamales. It was easy to believe that if the woman found anyone as a potential suspect for stealing from her grandson, they would meet a furious fate at her hands. "No respect, whoever they are."

Rosa fixed her gaze on her food, but the heaviness in her stomach blocked out any hopes of finding the meal appetizing. She heard her father suggest they wait until the morning to report the missing guitar, to be on the safe side, and no doubt Miguel would search the whole place all over again before they all retired. She sneaked a glance back at her cousin, afraid to see the sorrowful expression on his face.

Miguel looked surprisingly collected, despite the gloom in his eyes. "I don't think we should let it ruin _Dia de Los Muertos_. Today's not just about us, but the rest of our family. They deserve to be remembered, even without the guitar here."

He smiled softly. "Papa Héctor would agree."

Rosa blinked and the words left her before she thought them through, "How do you know that? For real? You don't know what he was like."

Miguel met her eyes and for a moment they held a secretive spark that totally contrasted the somberness from earlier.

"Because we're both Rivera. Family comes first."

There was a hum of approval from the rest of the family and Rosa almost felt jealous of her cousin's mature statement if not for the guilt pulling away at her. Then baby Soccoro, almost two years old, dropped her tortilla and wailed when Dante eagerly shot in to rescue it.

Rosa lowered her head again and eyed her fork. It had a dent where the neck met the prongs. How fitting.

* * *

The heaviness inside Rosa only grew more and more as the evening slowly crawled into night. While Miguel rallied a group into searching one last time for the guitar, Rosa had thrown herself into the clean up chores after the evening celebration dutifully, hoping to distract herself and her family from the fact she hadn't participated with her usual mirth. Elena had given her granddaughter one of her strong hugs and told her she was proud of her and happy for the help. The praise did little to lift Rosa's spirits, but she flashed a smile anyway and hugged the old woman back.

Rosa knew there would be little, if any sleep for her. Knowing that Miguel's guitar sat somewhere in a cemetery unguarded caused a growing uneasiness inside her, so Rosa knew there would be a return to the graveyard once everyone was asleep. She would then find a means to fix the guitar. Then at least she could plan for it to be "found," and even if there was still any mild damage, the family could only assume some unknown thief had caused it. How she would repair the guitar remained a mystery to solve later, once she knew it was still safe and a secret.

Once midnight had passed and the family compound was peacefully quiet, Rosa pulled out a hot pink jacket from her closet only to realize the color wasn't the best for sneaking around in the dark unnoticed. She grabbed one of her brother's bulky black hoodies from a hall closet, wrinkling her nose at the funny smell that accompanied it. Steeling herself, the girl left the building and headed for the front gate.

The walk was oddly peaceful. Most homes were darkened now with the early hours of the night, but she could still hear musical notes drifting from the busier, more active center of town where celebrating continued. Once the cemetery came into view she didn't know if she was glad or sad that she could only spy two figures scattered about the countless grave sites. Candles that had been lit hours ago were burned down, nearly used up, but they granted a soft glow for Rosa to walk by. She kept to the outskirts as best as she could before relocating the incredibly aged grave stone she had left the guitar behind.

The bundle was still there, undisturbed. Rosa fell on her knees and carefully unwrapped the sheets. Broken strings and cracked white wood greeted her. She grimaced and moaned softly.

"I'm so dead."

It briefly hit her what a silly thing it was to say that phrase now of all nights, and sitting in a cemetery to top it all.

Rosa looked away from her bundle of broken woes and scanned the sprawling cemetery while her brain worked to think of her next plan of action: Fix Miguel's guitar, somehow. From her vantage point she could see how so many stones were adorned and glowing orange from candlelight, while the outdated section she currently knelt in was dark and very nearly bare of acknowledgment. The only other thing that stood out, forgotten as well, was the Ernesto de la Cruz mausoleum that no one hardly bothered to pay attention to anymore.

"Wait a minute."

Rosa slowly rose to her feet, her gaze on the grand building. It had once garnered so much attention and the offerings over the years had always been plentiful. Items of great value, it was always a little silly considering the man was quite dead and had no need for the expensive gifts. And surely, now that de la Cruz was shamed and dishonored for his crimes and fraud … Would it really be a bad thing to steal something from a shameful, forgotten dead man and use it for good?

Like payment for fixing a beloved, old guitar.

There was very little adornment outside the memorial, and the piles of extravagance she recalled from the past years were missing as well. Despite the fact she was very nearly alone in the cemetery, Rosa hunched her shoulders as she crept up to one of the windows and peered inside. Moonlight and a few withered marigold bouquets were the only décor the inside of the tomb boasted. And the large portrait of Ernesto de la Cruz situated above his resting place.

Staring at the elaborate portrait, Rosa knew she'd found her solution. The painting, while of a deceased criminal, held a strong note of value. Everyone knew it had been painted for de la Cruz and that he had actually been present during the whole process. The fact there was now a scandalous story tied to de la Cruz's life would no doubt add more value to his famed portrait. If she was careful, it wouldn't be too hard to find a buyer.

The money would be more than enough to provide payment for Miguel's guitar. He could have ten new guitars if he wanted.

Rosa wrestled with the notion before huffing out a strong sigh. The thought of facing Miguel and her family made her stomach churn. She was never the one who broke the rules or did something dreadful in all their growing up years. Miguel had a knack for mischief, and she had enjoyed relishing whenever he got into trouble because it usually had nothing to do with her.

There was no way she could face them with the truth.

Moving back to the front of the mausoleum, Rosa crouched at the door and cupped the lock in her hands, eyeing the keyhole while her pulse pounded away in her ears. She set her jaw and removed a hair pin from the headband in her hair and recalled how one incident a few years back with a closet had given her an excuse to unofficially learn how to pick locks.

She wasn't sure if it was success or dread she felt when the lock clicked. She hurried inside, suddenly remembering there was such a thing as a cemetery caretaker.

Rosa had never really entered Ernesto's tomb. Miguel had over the years, but it was never an interest for her. The room was elaborate, but cold and empty. The only source of color was her target, the painting. It hung in place above the disgraced musician's tomb.

Rosa winced and climbed atop the tomb, refusing to grimace when the lid shifted faintly beneath her.

"Ernesto de la Cruz, I'm so sorry, but I'm going to be taking your portrait," she informed the dead man, positioning herself on her knees in front of the massive painting.

The smiling picture made no reply.

Rosa squared her shoulders, but her determined frown wavered. "It-It's not like you need it, and nobody really likes you now, anyway. So …"

She balled her fists, took a deep breath, then reached to grab the frame from the wall.

Her fingers barely had a chance to touch the portrait's edge.

Behind her, a male voice gasped in horror, "No, _mija_ , you can't!"

Fingers latched onto her shoulder and tugged her back. Rosa yelped and twisted her head. Instead of seeing a frowning groundskeeper, she came face to face with a pair of worried brown eyes sitting within the black eye sockets of an angular, bone-white human skull. Rosa's heart flipped in horror and all she could do was gape, a squeaky cry escaping her tightened throat. The man had no flesh, no skin. He stood there, entirely made of _bones._

In response, the skeleton blinked, his expression shifting to confusion as he looked at his bony white hand on her shoulder, then back to her face. He let out a sudden shout, causing Rosa to scream as well, and they leaped apart from each other, Rosa hitting the smooth stone floor on her hands and knees.

With their yells still echoing off the walls, the skeleton staggered from foot to foot, a bony finger pointing at her.

"Ahh, you can see me!" His jawbone fell off, clattering on the floor.

Rosa's screams turned frantic as she lunged to her feet and raced for the exit. She burst through the doors and darted in the direction where she knew she'd left the guitar.

Behind her, the skeleton's voice could be heard calling out in rising alarm, "Wait, don't go! Wait!"

She cast one quick glance back and saw his bony frame sticking out of the doorway. He wasn't giving chase, at least.

The fourteen year old huffed, "This is crazy. It _can't_ be real."

Just as she began to realize she'd taken the wrong direction, the hem of her brother's hoodie snagged on a grave site's pointed trim. Rosa yanked forward before turning, hopping in place as she wrestled free of the baggy piece of clothing. The moment she pried herself free her foot slipped and she found herself screaming as she fell backwards into a hole in the ground.

The hole turned out to be a freshly dug grave. Fear spiking even more, Rosa scrambled to her feet, panting frantically and surveying the six-foot high ledges of dirt that surrounded her, a sickening feeling mixing in with the adrenaline racing through her. Before she had time to think things through, the unmistakable sounds of clattering bones and rushing footsteps approached.

Up above, the skeleton man slid to a stop, dropping seamlessly to his knees beside the edge. Rosa cringed and backed away into the wall of dirt, her glasses jostling on her face.

"Go away," she warned in a squeak-y voice.

"Hey, hey, it's all right," the skeleton assured breathlessly. His brown eyes met her gaze and stated simply, "It's okay, Rosa." The skeletal frame leaned over, lowering a long, bony arm into the grave.

"Here. Let me help you outta there. It's okay."

Rosa's eyes darted around, but it was clear she was stuck and needed the help. She inched over, grimacing before shakily reaching up. As soon as her hand was in reach the skeletal man caught her.

"Up we go," he said, lifting and setting Rosa beside him. She gasped and looked up at her rescuer. His skull flashed a little smile and he reached forward, teeth-ridden jawbones moving as if he were about to speak, but Rosa kicked and scrambled backwards.

"Get away from me!"

Once she was on her feet again, so was the skeleton. They faced each other, Rosa breathing heavily as she eyed the skeletal being in front of her. The fact he stood and moved seamlessly while nothing seemed to be holding his bony limbs together was freakishly fascinating.

His arms raised slightly and it dawned on Rosa that he watched her with mounting concern.

"It's okay, Rosa."

She narrowed her eyes. "Stop saying that. This is _not_ okay! You … You're a … a-!" Lamely, she flung an arm in his direction while fixing her glasses. "All _bone-bones_!"

"Hey, hey. Calm down." The skeleton began snapping his fingers to get her attention and Rosa froze. A serious frown of worry decorated his features as he watched her.

"Deep breaths for me, Rosa. Can't have you passing out. Okay? Listen to your Papa Héctor."

"I'm perfectly calm-!" She bit off the rest of her indignant statement on realizing what she had just heard.

Rosa straightened and stared the skeleton down, taking in his full appearance. He was tall and thin, frightfully thin without any flesh or skin. His body was only bare, white bones attired in simple clothing, a deep purple vest, red handkerchief tied at the neck, suspenders and brown pants and leather fashioned shoes. A scruffy straw hat sat atop his mop of black hair and a spit of a black beard rested on his chin. His eyeballs at least looked warmly human.

She stared at his face, trying to recall the black and white photo she sometimes took time to glance over on the top of their _ofrenda_. Did he resemble the man in the photo? The man Miguel seemed to love undoubtedly and look up to without ever knowing him? Could it really be …?

Rosa grimaced and stepped back. "Papa Héctor?"

" _S_ _í_!" Héctor shouted, throwing his arms out and beaming a smile brighter than the sun. For a moment his hands popped free of their wrist sockets with the movement and shook in mid-air before re-connecting back again. His laughter bounced joyfully through the air, totally contradicting how baffled Rosa felt.

His fists balled and he hunched his shoulders like an excited child. "I'm your great-great grandpa, _mija_."

Rosa lifted a sweaty palm to her forehead, staring so hard at the skeletal man she could almost feel her eyeballs about to bulge out of her own skull. "But you're _dead._ Dead!"

Laughing again, he straightened and nodded. " _S_ _í_ , that's very true. But remember, Rosa, what tonight is?"

She blinked before cringing. _Oh, of course_. The hand she held to her head flopped around weakly. "But-But … really?"

Héctor planted a skeletal arm on his partially exposed hipbone and smirked playfully. "What? You didn't think your ancestors were really visiting you on _Dia de Muertos_?"

"Well, no. I mean, I-I don't know. Maybe once I did," Rosa murmured, thinking of when she was a small child. She hugged herself and glanced around, but no one else, alive or dead, was nearby.

"But-But how come you're here? How come I can see you?"

Héctor chuckled and brought a hand to his face, tapping his chin almost nervously. "That's an excellent question. You didn't steal the painting, oh no. I stopped that from happening. Sooo … what else have you been up to on _Dia de Muertos_ , eh?"

Rosa swallowed, finding her mouth felt strange. Her legs wobbled, too. She sidestepped and grabbed hold of a gravestone, asking quietly, "Is this really happening?"

"It's happening, yes." Héctor shifted himself forward, his smile full of compassion even though Rosa instinctively leaned away. "Believe me, I wasn't expecting to actually stop you back there. That was a bit of a surprise for us both, am I right?" Héctor nudged her elbow with his own and raised his brow bones, still full of smiles.

Rosa suddenly no longer felt like fainting. The girl huffed and shot him a mild glare. "It's not exactly a common thing to meet a skeleton out of nowhere. Wait." She lifted her head, eyes growing wide.

"If you're Papa Héctor … are the others here, too? Our family on the _ofrenda_?"

Héctor nodded, idly waving his hand. Every time he moved Rosa could hear his bones clattering faintly. "Yes, we were all here for the celebration and the dinner, even if you couldn't see us. But this is only my second _Dia de Muertos_ , so I stayed behind. By now everyone usually returns back to the Land of the Dead for our own festivities, but I want to see Santa Cecilia and my living family as much as possible."

He pressed bony lips together and eyed Rosa carefully. "Imelda and I thought you were very quiet, you know. Something the matter?"

Rosa looked away and winced, rubbing her arm. "You were watching at the dinner … And you followed me here?"

Héctor nodded and gently folded his arms. "Eh, I thought something wasn't right. Would you like to explain why you were willing to become a thief and steal from the dead?"

Rosa frowned, a weakened sigh escaping her. If there was one thing she had not factored into her unexpected plans for tonight, it was the possibility of a dead man catching her in the act of stealing

" … Oh, all right."

* * *

Rosa brought her bundle over to the stone steps sitting at the base of the mausoleum, where Héctor stood waiting for her. The skeleton was silent as she put down her burden and slowly unwrapped the sheets to reveal the beautiful white, splintered wood and broken strings of the famed guitar.

 _His guitar_ , Rosa reminded herself, watching as her deceased great-great grandfather edged closer, his eyes widening. It wasn't only Miguel's precious instrument, it was his and his first. She fumbled her hand against her arm as she observed Héctor bend down on his knee to carefully inspect the broken instrument he had once played. His eyes would narrow, but he seemed to be lost in thought, not anger. All of a sudden Rosa's frightened shock of meeting a skeleton was nothing compared to the guilt hammering at her on realizing she was willingly revealing to a relative what she had done.

Héctor heaved a sigh and glanced up, a fresh frown adorning his bone-white features but his voice and gaze were surprisingly calm.

"When did you do this?"

"Earlier today, when I got home from violin lessons." Rosa glanced away, still gripping and releasing her arm out of nerves. His calm gaze only made her feel uncomfortable. "I'd wondered if maybe I was playing the wrong instrument … I went into Miguel's room and found the guitar, but when I held it I tripped and fell over."

She gestured at the snapped-in-half guitar on the steps. "And … that happened."

"Mhm." Héctor rose back to his towering height and was quiet for a long moment. Rosa eyed him while he seemed deep in thought, her gaze landing on his exposed spine and rib cage and once again inwardly marveling at the fact he was an actual skeleton.

Héctor shifted his weight and regarded her, not so distracted from the subject of their conversation. "And you thought stealing de la Cruz's painting would help somehow?"

"I wanted to fix the guitar, secretly," Rosa admitted weakly.

Héctor shook his head. "Oh, Rosa, that wouldn't have worked out in the end. You can't fix a mistake by making another."

"I didn't think it'd be … that bad. I mean, nobody really likes de la Cruz anymore, right? He was a bad man."

"And stealing would make you better than him?" Héctor made a flat wave of his hand and raised his bone ridges.

He had a strong point. Miguel had proven de la Cruz had stolen from their family a long time ago. He had stolen the very guitar she had broken.

Rosa slowly shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't know what else to do."

"And if you steal from the dead on _Dia de Muertos_ , it's even worse," Héctor added gravely. " _Ni_ _ñ_ _a_ , you would have been cursed for it."

Now she squinted at him, wondering if she'd heard him right. "'Cursed'?"

"Yes! It's, well … it's happened once before. You could have been trapped … "

He trailed off shaking his head and Rosa sensed strong uneasiness in his words. She glanced at the mausoleum, suddenly understanding the urgency in his first statement by the tomb. He fully believed she would have come into some sort of danger had she gone through with her plan to steal the portrait.

She cocked her head. "What happened before?"

Héctor blinked at her, then slowly began to smile. He chuckled softly. "Miguel never told you, eh?"

"Told me what?"

The story Héctor then told her brought back a little of the initial shock of meeting the skeleton. Rosa sank down to the steps as she listened to the true events behind Miguel's mysterious disappearance two years ago, on _Dia de Muertos_. Héctor spoke of the event with the art of a storyteller with many years of practice under his belt, becoming animated when he spoke of Miguel's first performance, then dreadfully grim when he explained the revelation behind his own death. There was warm joy in his voice when he spoke of discovering he and Miguel were related all along, and by the time he reached the tale's finale and face off with Ernesto, Rosa was gripping her knees close to herself out of anticipation.

"Mama Coco remembered," Rosa murmured in wonder once he was done. Nobody would ever forget that beautiful memory of the dear, elderly woman singing quietly a song almost forgotten.

"That's right," Héctor agreed, taking a seat on the steps beside her, bones rattling as he sat down. The skeleton beamed up at the night sky, a peaceful glimmer in his eyes. "He lifted the curse, I got to see my daughter again, and _mi familia_ and I are now reconciled. Never forget how much your family loves you, Rosa."

He turned to her with a lopsided smile and offered her his hand. Rosa hesitated for only a moment before giving him hers, inwardly marveling at the feel of her great-great grandfather's bones and the reassuring grip they provided.

Héctor said, "I may not have been able to watch you grow up like the others, but you've never gone unnoticed. Miguel and I may have endured a _loco_ adventure, but that doesn't mean you aren't any less important than him."

There it was. Rosa wondered if all adults, dead or alive, were equipped with the ability to figure out what was always the root of her problem.

Héctor lifted her hand and studied it. Rosa blinked. "What is it?"

"It's … fine," he murmured in wonder. "Our _familia_ said when Miguel was cursed and stood with them in the Land of the Living, he glowed. Then he slowly began to turn into a skeleton."

Rosa nodded, recalling the detail in his story. She eyed her hand, noting with relief how normal it looked compared to the bones of Hector's digits around her own. "Does that mean I'm not cursed?"

"I would hope so."

"But we can see each other. When you reached to stop me from stealing the painting, we were able to see each other."

"I touched you." Héctor met her eyes and nodded, following along. His gaze landed on the broken guitar before them and he shrugged. "Perhaps it's the guitar. She's been tied to the Rivera family in both life and death in the past, it seems. But you are most definitely still alive, and looks like you'll stay that way."

Rosa sighed, relieved. If his story was accurate, had she been actually cursed then she should have seen the signs by now. They had been together in the cemetery for quite a while now. She felt fine, and it was nice to know they didn't have a reason to be anxious and rush to find a way to keep her from being trapped as a skeleton. She actually wondered if she could get Héctor to tell her more about the family and the Land of the Dead.

Héctor's skull leaned forward, watching her closely. "Why were you wondering if the violin wasn't for you anymore? You played wonderfully last year."

"Well, not anymore." Rosa frowned, refusing to meet the skeleton's unnervingly alert gaze. "Things are different now … I don't know."

"Different how?"

"Well, my playing's not improved since last year. I really tried, but no matter what I do, it doesn't sound right. Miguel's music sounds so real, and beautiful, and he never has trouble like I do. Even my teacher knows something is wrong with me."

Rosa narrowed her eyes and idly kicked her heel against one of the steps. "You should have seen her face today when my violin hit a wrong note."

"Everyone hits wrong notes. How often do you take lessons?"

"It used to be once a week, but we've been doing it two now. Sometimes three. I want to be better at it."

Héctor threw his head back with a roll of his shoulders, bones clattering as a result, and flung his free arm upwards, scoffing at the moon. "For one thing, the both of you are too focused on perfection. That teacher should know better instead of agreeing to putting you through extra lessons. Eugh! Too much stress. No thank you."

Rosa stared at him and blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Rosa, don't you see? Your problem isn't what you think it is! You're too focused on improving that you don't stop to _enjoy_ the violin. Enjoy the simple music you already can make instead of rushing on to the next big song. That's just stress. No wonder you feel you're not getting anywhere."

He poked her shoulder with a knowing look. "And it sounds to me like someone's comparing themselves a little too much to their cousin."

She knew Miguel would have been brought up at some point. Now that someone had said it, Rosa couldn't hold back her inner jealously to herself anymore.

"He's so good at music!" the teen almost exploded and very nearly wanted to throw herself backwards like Héctor had done. "It's so easy and natural for him. And everyone loves him."

"Hey, hey. You're loved, too." Héctor gave her hand a brief, firm tug. "And since Miguel, who used to be scolded for his music, now has a bright future ahead of him as a musician, you think you're lagging behind. Is that right?"

Rosa winced. She stared at him for one long moment before lowering her head, nodding. "I felt different before," she confessed. "Back when Miguel was always getting into trouble for his music. I felt like … I was better than him, somehow." The girl grimaced, tasting how selfish her words were.

If Héctor detected how ugly her statement was, he didn't show it. He nodded from side to side. "Now he's got the support he always needed and he's flourishing. Music for the two of you will always be different because you're two different people."

"But Miguel loves music and his songs … in a way I don't seem to have."

"So what?" the skeleton threw his arms apart. "So what if you love it differently than he does? You find your own songs, _mija_. I was never the popular one for my singing voice, but Ernesto's singing could have enchanted any listener. That was his talent. Mine was in my songs, not the skill of my voice."

He shrugged again. "So what?"

"Miguel and his music … it's _perfect_ compared to me."

"Miguel, Miguel, Miguel. _Ay_ , _ni_ _ñ_ _a._ " Héctor pinched skeletal digits against the bridge of his no longer existing nose. "Is that all you can think about? Miguel's not perfect, you know. He's made some pretty big mistakes too. I just told you how he almost cursed himself forever, remember that?"

Rosa thought of her cousin slowly transforming into a skeleton and being trapped somewhere without the rest of the family's knowledge and nodded.

Her great-great grandfather continued firmly, "And Miguel has been playing for years. By now it's going to be natural and easier for him, but it came with time. You two are very different and you're both on different paths in life. Stop comparing yourself to Miguel. Concentrate on being Rosa for a change, yes?"

Rosa sighed and stared out at the cemetery. "I know."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Héctor moved, crouching beside the broken guitar again. He let his gaze wander over the instrument and despite it's condition there was a small smile on his features.

"You know, everyone makes mistakes, Rosa."

The teen shut her eyes and shook her head before pointing at the busted guitar. "Not like this. I broke Miguel's guitar. A family heirloom, it's a legacy and a piece of Mexican history and it's _your_ guitar, too. And I broke it."

Judging by the soft look the skeleton gave her, he didn't really catch the desperation in her words. "Nothing lasts forever, Rosa. Heh, certainly not guitars, no matter how much we love them."

His eyes brightened and he snapped his fingers. "But I'll tell you what does last forever, _mija_. You know what it is?"

Rosa deadpanned, "I thought you were going to tell me."

" _Amor_. Love!"

His simple, enthusiastic statement could have awoken all of Santa Cecilia. Rosa's gaze darted around, half expecting the cemetery's occupants to jump out in agreement with him. When she turned back, Héctor was standing but hardly keeping still, waving and gesturing with all the energy of the world.

 _That's where Miguel gets it from,_ Rosa realized, unable to keep a smile from her face.

Héctor's voice was vibrant as he exclaimed, "You think our family cares more about the guitar than you? No! No way. No, they'll be disappointed, but they'll still love you. Do you think mistakes are the end of the world? They don't have to be! Trust me, Rosa, you're not the first to make a mistake in this family."

Héctor stilled and placed a hand over his exposed rib-cage, some of his excitement fading. "Believe me, Rosa. I know. I know you're scared and ashamed, but admitting you messed up doesn't make you less-special than anyone else. Nobody's perfect, dead or alive, _mija_."

He crouched on the steps in front of Rosa and laid a careful hand on her shoulder. "And the worst way to handle a mistake is by making another. You'd only get into more trouble than before, and I don't want to see my granddaughter hurt. Neither does the rest of our family."

Rosa dropped her gaze from meeting Héctor's gentle stare as understanding slowly sank in. As much as it seemed so hard to confront, she knew what he was implying.

She idly shifted her hands in her lap before looking back up. "You think I should just tell them the truth."

"No more lies," Héctor nodded. "You can do it, Rosa."

The teen knew he was right. She'd allowed her pride and fear to drive her to nearly becoming a thief, if not already a trespasser. And while knowing the right decision lay ahead of her, it didn't exactly fill her with confidence. Especially when thinking of facing Miguel for robbing him of the precious heirloom that connected him to Héctor.

Héctor rose to his full height again and was thoughtfully silent before nodding sideways, a spark of excitement returning to his eyes. Grabbing Rosa's arm, he tugged her to her feet.

"Come with me, Rosa. I want you to see something."

"Hang on," Rosa yelped while scooping up the sheets and guitar. She did her best to keep up with his bounding strides past the graves. By the time they reached the edge Rosa slowed, her wide eyes fastened on the sight emerging past the darkness.

Golden-orange petals, millions of them easily, made up a massive bridge curving gently upward, the other end disappearing out of sight in a curtain of navy blue fog. The bridge connected to the edge of the cemetery, scattered marigold petals strewn all over the ground. Héctor's story had made the bridge so vital, but Rosa had never imagined how wondrous it was in actuality.

The skeleton paused and watched as she dazedly walked closer. "Can't take your eyes off it?" Héctor chuckled.

"That's incredible," Rosa exclaimed, her arms reaching out toward the bridge while her bundle fell to the ground. "It's just flower petals, and it's all just … there. Floating in place. And you actually walk across it? Why don't we have stuff like this in the living world?"

She turned to Héctor when he didn't answer. Instead, the skeletal man sent a blank stare at the broken guitar on the ground, then looked to Rosa again.

Rosa hunched her shoulders and crouched to gather her forgotten bundle. "Sorry about that, Papa Héctor. I just got pretty excited for a moment."

"Don't worry. That's why I wanted to show you the bridge."

Héctor stepped over and crouched as well, his arms carefully guiding the re-wrapped guitar to be placed aside in the grass. "You've seemed discouraged most of our talk, and we both know why. But I don't want you to be afraid of doing the right thing. And you need to stop giving yourself a hard time, and enough with comparing yourself to Miguel."

He waved his hand around and frowned. "Comparison, it's stupid, _mija_. You just need to focus on being who you are."

Rosa nodded with a small smile. She let out a small laugh. "Kind of like what Daniel said."

Héctor blinked rapidly. "Daniel?"

"Yeah. You don't know him. He's this boy I see at school. He said something a lot like what you've been telling me-"

She was cut off as Héctor shook his head, his bones audibly stiffening up. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Wait." He fixed Rosa with a deep frown, eyes narrowing darkly.

"A _boy_?"

The girl stared at him. "Yes?"

The skeleton burst out, "But you're like, five!"

"No, I'm not. You said yourself I'm fourteen." Rosa blushed and adjusted her frames. "Besides, he's just somebody I talk to sometimes, that's all."

Héctor crossed his bony arms, still frowning and looking very unconvinced.

"That's all," Rosa repeated with slow emphasis. She threw on a smile for good measure. "Don't worry about it. I'm not ready for romance."

Her deceased relative let out an explosive snort and huffed at the sky. "Oh, thank goodness for that."

Rosa hunched up her shoulders. She had the strong sense she'd not sounded quite as mature as she had hoped. She watched silently as Héctor doubled over for a moment, sounding as if he were wrestling with himself before finally straightening again, sighing loudly.

"Okay, fine," he held out his hands. "We won't worry about this … _boy_ for now." He blinked and pointed swiftly at her.

" _Mija_ , does your family know?"

"There's nothing to know," Rosa snapped, hoping her flushing face wasn't so easy to see in the poor lighting.

Hector held up his arms and smiled. "All right, all right. I'll stop it there. Just be careful for Papa Héctor, _s_ _í_?"

"I'm always careful."

Rosa and the skeleton stood to their feet and Héctor turned to gaze at the looming marigold bridge. Rosa studied him for a moment before realization hit her.

"You have to go back now, don't you?"

"I'd like to walk you back home, but it's grown rather late. Sunrise will come soon and-"

"I know. You can't stay after that. I don't want anything bad to happen to you either, Papa Héctor."

Héctor turned to face her. He nodded once at the guitar on the ground. "Don't let your mistakes control you, Rosa. You can do what's right."

"I know," she answered softly. "I … I wish you could be there, though. When I tell Miguel."

"Miguel will understand more than you think," Héctor smiled. "Family comes first, Rosa."

He opened up his arms and offered a hesitant shrug. Whatever fear from their earlier meeting had long since faded for Rosa, and knowing now that her great-great grandfather was leaving with almost no chance of ever seeing him until she, too, entered the Land of the Dead, she moved forward and readily accepted the hug. The man's lanky bones felt odd, but the embrace was strong and caring, much like his perspective of their family.

" _Mi nieta_ ," Héctor patted her back. "I'm so happy I got to meet you."

Rosa thought of the craziness from earlier and giggled. "Me too."

They eased back and Héctor lightly tugged at her headband with a smile. "I want to hear you play music next _Dia de Muertos._ Your music, okay?"

Rosa beamed and nodded. " _Gracias_ , Papa Héctor."

Héctor's face broke into a bigger smile. He turned on his heel and strolled for the bridge, head held high. He even began to softly sing as he boarded the marigold bridge and Rosa's eyes widened on recognizing the familiar melody of the long cherished lullaby and her heart swelled.

 _Remember Me_ suddenly meant far more to her than ever before.

As if reading her thoughts, Héctor halted on reaching the highest point of the bridge and swung around waving and hollering, "Your family loves you, Rosa. Don't you forget it!"

"I won't," Rosa answered. "And I won't forget you!"

Héctor responded with warm laughter as he turned, walking and vanishing from sight into the dense fog that shrouded the Land of the Dead from the eyes of the living. Rosa edged forward, even as the marigold bridge began to fade out, like a dying candle. Once she reached the point where it had connected to the earth, there was nothing left at all. She nudged a handful of leftover petals with her shoe, but they didn't glow.

Rosa went back to pick up the broken guitar in its bundle, but before setting off for home she stared long and hard at where she knew the marigold bridge had just been, like a dream being left behind when you woke up. She hugged the broken guitar close and smiled as she turned to go.

"See you next year, Papa Héctor."

* * *

 ** _Author's Note_ : I seem to always write a _Coco_ story that centers around the message of love and family and reconciliation, much like the movie itself. I also wanted to give Rosa some attention, and I doubt I'm the only one who wants to see what would happen if she met Héctor too. **

**This is a oneshot short story, so there won't be any more chapters, but that doesn't mean I won't possibly write more _Coco_ stories in the future. Feel free to check out my other _Coco_ oneshot, _We're Family_.**

 **If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review and let me know!**


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